A World So Cold
by Ashe Romeo
Summary: After encountering one of the robotic Ky Kiskes, Millia decides to bring the destroyed machine to the International Police Force. Ky Kiske convinces her to join the ranks, but before she can do good for the world, she must first slay her own demons. KyMR
1. Prologue: Thunderstorm

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Disclaimer: I own nothing. All canon characters in this fanfiction belong to Sammy, etc. Don't sue, I'm fifteen, jobless, and an aspiring actress. Love!

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A/N: Let me first say that I've only just gotten into the Guilty Gear fandom. I played the PS2 version over a friend's house, and I got hooked bigtime. Millia fascinated me, (A cool, calm, and collected ex-assassin who fights with her _hair? _Come ON. That's AWESOME.) so of course I did my homework, and got to some thinking about a fanfiction.

Now, of course I know that there are obvious clues throughout the game that scream Jam/Ky. However, I personally do not float my boat down that river. The same thing goes for Dizzy/Testament…I just think that pairings like that are too clichéd. And annoying. I won't lie, though, I do like the fluff in small doses, so this pairing, **Millia/Ky, **is perfect for me.

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Warnings: Thematic elements, strong violence and language, angst, mild homosexuality, eventual (juiceless) lemon.

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General comments: Please put thought and effort into your reviews. PLEASE. I'm BEGGING you guys…if you like it, TELL ME what specifically you liked. If you hated it, don't be scared, TELL ME why you hated it. If there's anything wrong, whether it be with canon or with spelling or grammar, TELL ME. I can't emphasize this enough. It may sound harsh, but I really can't improve as a writer if all I get for reviews are "its good plz update". PLEASE.

Other than that…enjoy!

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A World So Cold

Prologue:

Thunderstorm

Millia had not been to Paris many times before, and never with the intention of actually enjoying it. Now, as she walked its streets in pursuit of the International Police Force Headquarters, the rain slamming down and down as if Heaven itself sought to smite her into the earth, she decided that she didn't much care for the city at all.

Granted, it _was _her own decision to come here, but that didn't mean that she had a smile on her face and a song in her heart. A few bruises on her face and a lead weight in her heart was a more accurate description, really, but going straight to the Headquarters was the right thing to do. Even if she didn't much like doing it.

Millia had still been reeling from a previous battle when she encountered what she immediately (and correctly) assumed was a robotic impersonator of a police officer. The machine had attacked her without hesitation, and though she was fighting it whilst injured, she was still able to pummel it to the point of malfunction. Whether or not the robot was a creation of the International Police Force itself (she didn't know, and nor did she particularly care) they deserved to have it in their possession.

So here she was, in Paris, taking it to the Headquarters, even though she was fairly certain that it was completely irreparable. She hadn't ripped its legs out, but it still toppled whenever it tried to walk on its own, flailing. Its head was almost completely knocked off of its shoulders, connected only by wires that were on the brink of snapping. The noise it was making being slightly muffled by her hair, it sputtered and twitched in defiance, blue sparks emanating from every orifice. Occasionally, a mangled word or phrase ("YOU ARE UNDER _ARREST_!") was distinctly audible amidst the mechanical hissing and spitting, but it most definitely was no longer a threat.

Lightning flashed in a sudden, brilliant display of eerie incandescence, and, brief as it was, it showed her destination. In those few seconds of garish light, Millia was able to see the Headquarters she sought. It was a large structure, as she expected it to be, its majestic spires striving to touch the very sky. Quite obvious, really, and also a tolerable distance from where she stood. Her mood improving somewhat, she trudged onward.

Only a close observer would have noticed that she was favouring her left leg, and even then, the limp wasn't quite as dramatic as it could have been. She had other wounds that looked _far _worse. Claw-like scratches and scrapes adorned her legs, most of them open and bleeding, but all of them shallow. She suffered from one black eye and several small cuts on her face. Another bruise was forming over a tender, aching spot on her jaw.

Yes, she _looked_ like she'd dragged herself through hell, but her injuries were not too serious. Millia was not one to ignore a potentially fatal wound-she knew when to keep moving and when not to. Now was one of those times when it was safe to push on, and push on she did.

As she walked along, avoiding puddles and being careful not to strain her ankle too badly, thoughts of the battle where she had obtained her wounds threatened to creep into her mind. She shoved them away with forceful vehemence, but that sick feeling in her chest would not dissolve, nor would the bitter taste in her mouth. Pain. Pain she'd have to confront eventually, but that she couldn't-_wouldn't-_even _think _about now.

Lightning flashed fleetingly, tauntingly, and thunder cackled loudly in response.

She had arrived at the Headquarters. For a moment, she simply stood at the end of the long stone walkway she would have to walk soon, studying the magnificent building before her with carefully gauged awe, arms still at her sides, hair tightening around her burden with little exertion.

"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!" boomed the robot, much more loudly than it had earlier. It flailed in its prison of gold, but was unable to free itself. Perhaps there was some fight left in it after all.

Millia said nothing. She began to hike the walkway, the lights of the mansion ahead shining like beacons to a sailor lost at sea.


	2. Chapter1: A Parisian Introduction

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Those GG characters in my closet are clones, I SWEAR. I'm just a penniless actress. No suing me, please!

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A/N: I thank you all for your kind words regarding the prologue. I'm glad that the story is likeable so far, despite the fact that my prologues are usually very short. Hopefully you all will enjoy the first chapter…it's considerably longer, as you can tell. Again, I'll ask you to tell me if you see anything wrong, etc., because I don't have a beta. If anyone would be interested in beta-ing, that would be cool, too…hint hint. Heehee.

And now, onward to chapter one!

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Chapter I: A Parisian Introduction

The first thing Millia noticed as she approached the Headquarters' great double doors was that these two men dressed in blue and white ahead of her were the only sentries keeping watch of _all_ the front entrances. At this realization, she furrowed her brow, frowning disapprovingly. She had taken her time walking up the stone walkway-it was more than a little obvious that she was here and she was coming-yet these two were leaning casually on their spears, chatting, either oblivious to her or just disregarding her presence.

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They're lacking reinforcements, she thought, as she listened to the men talk about the recent arson of their favourite restaurant. _Maybe they're making robots because people aren't rushing to the ranks anymore…no one's signing up…_

The busted robot jerked violently, and she tightened her hair around it so firmly, she heard something crack. She regretted to realize that she didn't much care at the moment-her impatience was growing and growing quickly.

"Excuse me," she said, and was infuriated to hear that she received no response from the guards, even though she was standing right in front of them. They jabbered on, blissfully unaware of her presence, and though she would never actually _do _such a thing, Millia noted dryly that if she were to attack, she'd knock them both into the ground in thirty seconds flat and be on her merry way.

"Excuse me," she said, much more loudly, though none of her aggravation surfaced in her tone. Even still, the two goons jumped, and turned to face her with a sloppy façade of antagonism.

"What's your business?" one of them snapped, glaring unaffectedly. Millia met his gaze firmly and without effort, her face blank.

"Forgive my intrusion," she said, her voice monotonous but unflappably polite. "I have no invitation. I came across something I believe is the property of the International Police Force not long ago. A robot."

She raised her hair up and brought it and its burden in front of her, unwinding several strands so that only the machine's busted face was revealed. It spasmed and started jabbering again, making both guards jump, and Millia wisely covered it as quickly as possible. They were looking at her suspiciously now—no doubt because of her hair.

"Where did you find that?" the same guard who had spoken before asked, sadly unable to mask the fear in his voice.

"Not far from the city," she replied dryly, and unintentionally flinched. There was a cut on the corner of her mouth that stung when she spoke.

Sadly, the guards noticed, and looked at her pointedly with softened expressions. Pity. Surely they noticed the marks all over her body before, but, as she hadn't done anything to indicate pain aside from that one wince, surely she seemed more human to them now. She felt a tremor of impatience and anger.

"It attacked you?" asked the second sentry, the one who before had yet to speak.

"Yes, it attacked me," Millia replied, a trifle frostily. Really now, wasn't that _obvious!_

The men exchanged a would-be, conspiring glance, and nodded in unison. They almost looked official. Almost.

"All right," the first one said. "Proceed."

She didn't conceal her surprise, "That's all?"

"We've had several complaints regarding robotic impersonators of officers of the law," the second one explained, as if he'd memorized words from a script but had not bothered to check which emotion it made sense to read them with.

"We apologize for the inconvenience," the first added. "Miss?"

"Driver," Millia replied evenly, taking the first false name she could think of. It wouldn't help to tell these idiots her name. She wasn't in the mood to deal with this any longer than she had to.

"Miss Driver," the first said with a curt nod. "The head officer is in his study at the moment."

"The second floor."

"Third door on the left."

"There'll be sentries. We'll inform them that you're on your way."

They showed her walkie-talkies. Not in the least bit impressed, she nodded.

"Thank you," she said, and without voicing a single one of the questions in her head, strode past the two of them and into the main parlour of the International Police Force Headquarters. Here, she paused for a moment, just looking at her surroundings.

Outside, the storm raged, She was still dripping water, shivering from it. But despite her discomforts, in here, where she was dry, the flashing lightning and jarring bellows of thunder was almost…pretty. There was a window just in front of her that displayed the beauty of the storm's ire, and Millia watched it, impressed despite herself. She remembered then that the head of the International Police Force had a sacred lightning sword in his possession, and though she couldn't exactly remember the name of the weapon, she nonetheless kept that in mind for speaking to him as she climbed the marble staircase.

Up on the second floor, the floor trembled beneath her feet. She could still hear the brutal sound of the thunder, but it seemed farther away now, unimportant. However, there was no escaping the brightness of the lightning. She glanced only briefly out a coal-black window, and was instantly greeted by a jagged, blinding ray of deadly light. Did it always rain here in Paris?

She paused in her stride, having reached what had to be the study of the head officer. The oaken doors were gilded, and two sentries whom Millia could have sworn were related to the goons outside stood before them.

"Name?" one asked.

"Driver," Millia said again, and the robot spasmed violently inside her hair. The sentries didn't question it. They merely stepped aside.

**__**

Clearly they're lacking reinforcements, Millia thought as she strode forward, nodding politely. _No one is questioning my hair? It's a Gear!_

Briefly, she contemplated why it was that she wanted to make things harder for herself, but then the doors closed behind her and she found herself face-to-face with—

A wreck.

His desk that he was sitting at was set right in front of another grand window, like the one downstairs, and almost on cue, a bolt of lightning slashed the sky in half with brutal incandescence. In that second or so of bright light, she saw splotches of deep purple beneath his eyes, cracked, pursed lips, gnarled hands, blank eyes. She jumped, startled by the semi-horrific image, but then the lightning faded, and the tame candlelight revealed the visage of a handsome, but clearly exhausted young man half-buried beneath piles of paperwork. It seemed to take a moment for him to notice that she was there, but when he did, an obvious expression of surprise rippled across his features. Then, something Millia didn't like at all. Recognition.

"Good evening," he said genially, but also tiredly. "Please, sit down."

Millia didn't move.

"I'd rather not," she told him bluntly. "I'd rather get this over and done with."

He eyed her carefully, but didn't press the matter.

"Very well," he said. "I'm told you found a robot?"

"It attacked me, actually," she replied shortly, swinging her hair around and dumping the busted machine on the ground like the garbage it was. As she shook her locks free of the soot and the fragmented metal, she noticed dimly that he was not watching her still form, but instead the golden strands wafting through the air on their own accord. She didn't much care, though. She wasn't lying when she said she wanted to get this done with as quickly as possible—she was exhausted.

He bowed his head.

"I apologize," he said, standing up and weaving his way around the desk. Millia noticed the lightning sword she'd remembered earlier leaning against the windowsill, crackling with electricity. Approaching her unarmed? Were these people _stupid?_

"Apology accepted," she said. "I won't be filing any suits, as your machine-"

"They aren't our machines," he corrected.

"What?" she blurted, before she could stop herself. Her hair fell limply to the ground.

"They were created by our opposition," he explained, somewhat sheepishly, running a slender and frail-looking hand through his own hair.

"I see," Millia replied flatly, not pursuing the topic, even if it had piqued her curiosity. Another time, maybe, if she didn't read about it in the newspaper. "Well, I'll be on my-"

"It wounded you," he interrupted, his eyes sweeping over her body in a silent assessment of her injuries.

Something inside her heart stung.

"No it didn't," she nearly snapped.

He looked at her.

"They're from another battle," she added through gritted teeth, but he still didn't look away.

"Well, thank you, nonetheless," he said, and finally, she was the one to avert her gaze. She still felt his eyes on her, though. There was silence for a long moment, and when Millia heard the distant _boom _of thunder outdoors, she was reminded of her intention to not stay long, and turned away. Then, however, was when the officer chose to speak up again.

"Miss Rage, are you aware that there is a bounty on your head?"

Hearing her own name startled her, but when she looked to him with her guard up, ready to attack, she saw only earnest compassion in his eyes. It bothered her, far more than simple hostility would have.

"There is no bounty on my head anymore," she said, chastised. "My name was taken off of that list long ago."

She knew her words were false, even as she spoke them. It seemed that he did as well.

"Will you sit down now?" he asked, and she nodded mutely, accepting the chair he offered. He sat down too, in his chair behind the desk, and she felt a tremor of unease, with him being so close to his weapon again.

"Tea?" he offered amicably. A ghost of a smile flickered across his mien, but then was lost to sullen fatigue.

"No thank you," she replied, politely, but firmly. Ten minutes. Ten minutes of his time, that was _it. _She was already counting down the seconds in her head.

He nodded, unoffended, and folded his hands.

"You've most likely been aware of this for quite some time, but a new bounty list has been distributed."

"A false bounty list," she corrected with thinly veiled impatience.

Pricked by her tone, he nodded reassuringly.

"Obviously, the list was not produced by the International Police Force," he said. "And as those robots also aren't ours…you can see that we have a problem here. The list is still circulating-"

"What?" she interrupted. "What did you say?"

"The false bounty list," he repeated, somewhat flustered. "The one…with your name on it. We…we haven't been able to track down all of the lists, and with those robotic impersonators making a mess of things, well, it's becoming increasingly difficult to convince the public that the list is false."

Millia slumped in her chair, feeling very much like hitting something.

"You're meaning to tell me," she began, bringing both palms to her face in a gesture of utter hopelessness, "that not only is there a _false list _going around, but that you can't even _do _anything about it?" This was the last straw. First, the _idiocy _of the two "sentries" outside, and now this!

"Well, see, that's why I asked you to stay for a bit, Miss Rage," he said awkwardly. She looked at him expectantly through the gaps between her fingers, and he went on, speaking very quickly.

"Your name is on the list, when, clearly, it shouldn't be. Obviously, we're uh…lacking reinforcements, and as I understand, you have quite a bit of experience under your belt. You would want to set things straight, right? I'm sure that you wouldn't _want _your name on a bounty list. Besides, wouldn't you want to know who's behind this?"

She dropped her hands away from her face, and simply looked at him for a long moment. Young. _Too _young. The hope shone blatantly in his eyes, in a way that made her both pity and envy him. He truly, honestly expected her to say yes. To be so naïve!

"What's your name?" she asked tiredly, unwilling to directly discuss the proposition just yet.

"Ky," he replied. "Ky Kiske."

She nodded stiffly. So that was it. She'd heard it before, but hadn't remembered.

Several moments passed in which the storm raged on outside, and Ky sat patiently before her, his hands neatly folded and resting on the desk in front of him. Millia contemplated silently, her eyes half-closed, tentatively prodding the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

Well, his points were all valid. She _did _want her name off of that bounty list. She had worked far too hard to get it off the first one, and yes, she _did _want to know who it was that put her name on the second. Her reputation was sullied again, and it was irksome now that she had a chance to start over.

Start over.

She furrowed her brow and bit her lip, violently shoving back the onslaught of fresh pain. She was supposed to be _done _with fighting. _Done._

But there's nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, argued the voice of reason and logic. _No obstacles to eliminate. Besides whoever put your name on that list. Here's as good a start as any._

"Well, Mr. Kiske," she said softly, and didn't even have to look up to see that he had focused his entire being on her. "Your points are quite unarguable."

"You'll join us, then?" he asked, eagerly. She smiled briefly, amused by his eagerness.

"I will aid you in whatever way I can in arresting this culprit," she said blandly, her mirth short-lived. Now, she looked at him, raising a warning brow. "But only so much."

He nodded exuberantly, nonetheless, which also amused her. "Very good, Miss Rage," he said. "Welcome. There are lodgings available right here in the Headquarters. I will send someone to dress your wounds, and you can rest. Is tomorrow all right, to begin?"

Millia looked at him for a long moment, and nodded, rising out of her chair.

"Tomorrow is perfect."


	3. Chapter2: Nurse Miwako

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Disclaimer: See first chapter, yadda yadda

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A/N: Well, this bit here is all I have typed up. The rest are all in my notebooks—just means that it'll be a little bit before my next update, Tuesday at the latest. I just have to tap it all up and whatnot. I've been unbelievably busy with school and rehearsals and whatnot. Eurgh.

Did I tell you guys yet that I'll be cosplaying Millia for AnimeBoston? I don't think I have yet, but now you know. Lol.

What else, what else? Thank you, **Hugh, **for your kind words, and for pointing out that error of mine. I shall correct it as soon as I have time. Thanks! A cookie to ya! Heeheehee.

Onward! And just as a sidenote, I apologise if Miwako seems a bit Suish—believe me, I'm all too aware. I guarantee that she won't be in the fic that much, I just needed her to push things along a little bit. Otherwise, enjoy.

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Chapter 2: Nurse Miwako

A few minutes later, Millia found herself being lead down the hall of the Headquarters' second floor, and through the elaborate double-doors of a guests' bedchamber. She was left at the threshold by her escort, informed that a nurse would come in a half-hour's time to dress her wounds, and told to relax and make herself at home in the meantime. He closed the door behind him with a respectful farewell, presumably to stand uselessly outside under the guise of keeping watch.

Millia said nothing; she merely sighed.

The room was nice, she decided immediately, but _too _nice. It seemed that the International Police Force cared a great deal about its guests. A huge, king-sized canopy bed sprawled before her, dressed in fresh blue linens with a gigantic, latched trunk resting at its foot. Its posts were a dark mahogany, and glistened in the way that only the brand new or meticulously polished could glisten. Five or six white pillows were neatly stacked against the headboard.

Adjacent to the bed was a writing desk. Its colour was the same rich brown as the bedposts. The gold knobs on the drawers shone dully in the tawny lamplight, and Millia saw a sheaf of fresh paper, quills, ink, and wax tablets on its spotless surface. A plush chair was set nearby.

Such was the only furniture in the room, but she was still unimpressed and even mildly irritated to behold its lavishness. It was irksome to see that funds were spent on such luxuries, when clearly reinforcements were direly needed.

Her boots making small depressions in the plush, maroon carpet, Millia approached the gigantic bed and sat down stiffly. She saw a small corridor to her left, but didn't bother getting up to investigate where it led. It was most likely the bath-chamber and she had no desire at all to see other ways in which money was wasted. Sighing deeply, she leaned forward and removed her boots and her socks, beginning immediately to massage her sore right calf.

As her fingers worked expertly at the aching muscle, she flinched at the fiery needles of agony that pierced her skin. Sucking her breath in through her teeth in short, pained gasps, she worked at it until the tautness dissipated and she was able to flex her foot. If she'd keep off of it tonight, she'd be able to walk the next day without interference.

Crossing her arms, she leaned back, sinking into the coverlet. Unblinkingly, she stared up at the canopy. For the first time since what'd happened earlier, and with nothing that had to be immediately done, she allowed herself to drift away with her thoughts.

No recognition. Not a shred of…of anything. Oh yes, there was anger, a deep and senseless anger that seemed to fuel his very existence, but not the kind of anger she expected, the kind she deserved.

Her lips trembled, and she pursed them to make them still. What he'd _become_…that was far more unbearable than the vengeful being of her imaginings. Those beasts of shadow at his command, his voice, a specter in itself that tore her mind asunder.

Presently, she shuddered at the thought, acutely aware of every scratch and bruise and mark on her body. Though she hurt, more so now than perhaps an hour ago, her wounds were a reminder of life, a reminder of triumph.

Even if it didn't _feel _like triumph.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the ugly thought as if she could effectively nip it at the bud, and averted her head to the side. Not triumph. Not anything. _Had _it been the right thing, to do what she did by destroying what was left of her former Master?

It was a mercy.

But even if it _was _a mercy, it didn't feel like one. It felt like grey, a stark grey between the blacks and the whites that made up the rest of her life. She just didn't understand.

At least with Venom, things had been clear.

Undeniably, inescapably clear.

A knocking at the door interrupted her miserable reverie. For a long moment, she misunderstood it, and simply stared blankly in its direction. Then, she remembered that a nurse was on her way, and she sat up, clearing her throat.

"Come in," she said quietly, and the door swung open.

The nurse was an image straight from some twelve-year-old boy's wet dream. She was small, cute, and bouncy, and dressed entirely in white from the cap on her head to the shoes on her feet. Her dress was short and very tight, and her vibrantly red hair was pulled into two pigtails. Rubber gloves adorned her hands; she carried a very large medical bag. She smiled brightly, and offered Millia a jaunty little wave of greeting.

"'Allo!" she said buoyantly, her voice very much the opposite of the perky schoolgirl cuteness that was Millia's expectation.

She managed a small smile that matched her mild amusement.

"Hello," she replied. And then, as an afterthought, "They really make you dress like that?"

"They don't _make _me," the nurse replied with a small laugh, and set her bag on the nightstand. Glancing at the her nametag, Millia noticed that her name was "Miwako"

"Golly, you look beat up," Miwako said, tutting as she examined Millia's wounds. "The heck happened to ya, anyways?"

"A battle," Millia replied politely.

"A _battle_?" Miwako echoed, raising an amber eyebrow. Millia noted a distinctive change of character from the bubbly young woman who had skipped in just a few seconds ago. A façade of naivete? How interesting. She nodded in response.

"You shouldn't be fighting,"Miwako advised, rummaging about in her bag and tossing rolls of gauze and tubes of antiseptic cremes on the nightstand. "A pretty girl like you…you should be waiting at home for someone to propose to you."

Millia chuckled lightly, amused.

"If only it were that easy," she said, before she could stop herself. The nurse had an aura of friendliness and ease that made speaking to her remarkably simple. Had she been able to make the comparison, Millia would have labeled her as "motherly," and mused over the contrast between that and her perky appearance.

"Oh c'mon, don't say that," Miwako scolded on cue to Millia's thoughts, scrubbing at the scrapes on her arm with some rubbing alcohol. She applied a thin layer of antiseptic cream, and wrapped the wounds in gauze. "You have such pretty hair. It's rare to see a girl these days who keeps it as long as you do."

She ran a gentle hand through Millia's presently dormant locks, and Millia smirked, despite herself.

"Thank you," she said. "It's kind of you to say so."

Miwako laughed delightedly, much to Millia's confusion.

"Kind of me to say so, she says," she chuckled. "What's your name, honey?"

"Millia," she told her, after a second's hesitation. "You are Miwako, correct?"

"Yup," Miwako said, not stopping her healing even to look at Millia. Apparently, she didn't recognize her name, and if she did, well, she seemed to not care. It was confusing.

"So you're working for the IPF now, I hear?" Miwako asked distractedly as she worked.

"Yes," Millia said, looking up at the ceiling. "Do you?"

"Hmm…mostly," Miwako replied. "I'm pretty freelance, actually. I try to do what I can for whoever I can."

"That's admirable," Millia commended. Miwako shrugged nonchalantly.

"Just doing what I want," she said. "There's more money this way, too, to tell you the truth. Most of my patients are from the IPF, though, or IPF prisoners. We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other."

She flashed her a warm smile. Millia tentatively smiled back, but there was no mirth or warmth. Her earlier worries about the bounty list had returned full-force.

"There," Miwako said, wrapping her calf in an ace bandage. "All set. Just put some salt on that eye."

"Why not ice?" Millia mumbled distractedly.

"Salt, ice, whatever," Miwako replied, bustling about and packing her things back into her voluminous bag. "That gauze is waterproof, too. You can bathe in it, just don't get it totally soaked."

"All right. Thank you," Millia said earnestly.

"No problem," Miwako said with another smile. "You take care, Millia. Rest up."

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she turned and started walking towards the door. Millia was just about to say goodbye when she turned around, and raised her finger in a pointing gesture.

"Oh yeah," she said, producing a piece of folded white paper from her breast pocket. "Mr. Kiske told me to give you this."

What?

Millia started to get up, but Miwako bustled over to the bedside, and handed her the paper.

"There you go, hon," the redhead said as she turned to leave once more. "You have a good night."

"You as well," Millia said, frowning as she unfolded the sheet.

Her frown only deepened as she read what was on it.

__

Miss Rage:

Would you like to have breakfast with me tomorrow morning, so we might discuss the specifics of our objective?

-Ky Kiske, Head of IPF

His title in his signature was the lone indication of formality in the entire short request. However, the request itself was formal enough. It wasn't completely ludicrous to want to discuss the specifics of an objective, was it?

Sighing deeply, Millia approached the desk and picked up a pen, writing neatly on the back.

__

Mr. Kiske:

Yes, I will have breakfast with you to discuss the specifics of our mission.

-Millia Rage.

Folding the paper in half and in half again, she handed it to the sentry outside her door with the instruction of bringing it to Mr. Kiske, then returned back to her chamber with the intention of running a bath.

What _had _she gotten herself into?


	4. A Chat over Breakfast

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one, please.

**Author's notes: **I apologize for how long it took for me to update. My computer had some difficulties so I couldn't write this fic for awhile. I've also been grounded. I still AM grounded, unfortunately. But, I promise my updates will fall into regular flow again soon…I most certainly have not forgotten about this fic and many thanks to my loyal reviewers for all your kind words. You guys rock my socks. Enjoy this chapter, it's short, but the next one will be longer and much more interesting. Venom shows up.

Don't forget to review!

Much love,

_Kirie_

PS: Does anyone like the _Angel Sanctuary_ manga series? I read all 11 volumes in one week…can't wait for number twelve!

**Chapter 3: A Chat over Breakfast**

By the time Millia had finished with her bath, the sentry informed her that Mr. Kiske had sent word back. She was instructed to meet him in the dining hall at nine o'clock the next morning. However, she decided immediately that she was going to show up at five _past _nine, if only to make a point that she considered herself to be the important one here and that she _had _the right to make a late appearance. However, when she came down to the generously lit, gigantic dining hall, she was disappointed to see that the only other soul in the place was an aging butler.

"Good morning, Miss Driver," he said cordially.

"Good morning," she replied, bewildered.

"How may I be of service to you?" he asked.

"I'm all right, for now," she assured him, noticing vaguely that the tailored suit he was wearing must've cost a fortune. He nodded curtly, and departed to wait alongside the double-door threshold.

Two minutes passed, and still no sign of Mr. Kiske. Five minutes. Seven minutes.

Bored, Millia attempted to amuse herself by taking in every detail of the place that she could. The table she was sitting at was long and rectangular, lined by six high-backed chairs on both sides. The woodwork was, unsurprisingly, a dark brown in colour, and a gilded cloth was spread over the table's surface. A huge chandelier hung overhead, all of its candles lit, and Millia needed only to turn her head slightly to the left to look out the French windows and watch the storm, which had diminished to a gentle rumbling of thunder and a calm pattering of rain.

Eight minutes. Ten.

"I would like some tea, please," she said, firmly but politely to the butler, who immediately rushed off to obey. If this lateness on his part was intentional, she would _not _be made a fool of by sitting awkwardly and daydreaming.

Sighing deeply, she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. She noticed paintings on the walls, and chose to look at them, a fiery landscape being a particular object of interest. Just as she was beginning to drift off into its vibrant oranges and reds, the double doors opened, and her reverie was broken.

Ky Kiske scurried rather than walked over to the table, and she watched him calculatingly, with carefully controlled amusement. His uniform seemed rumpled, and his hair a mess. Those shadows under his eyes were more evident than ever, and Millia immediately deducted that he was finishing up some last minute paperwork. He chose a seat across from her rather than at one of the table's ends, which surprised her, and removed a sheaf of papers and a pen from his coat pocket.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," he said, flattening the papers with the palms of his hands on the desk. "I had some paperwork that I absolutely had to finish."

Millia raised a brow.

"No problem," she said. Then, "You ought to invest in a secretary."

He shook his head.

"I can't—not nearly enough funds. You could have asked for something, you know."

He offered her a tremulous, boyish smile, and just on time, the butler came to the table with the pot of tea and two cups. Millia smiled back.

"I did," she corrected. "Tea?"

"Please."

She filled both of their cups, and looked at him pointedly, both brows raised.

"I believe you wished to discuss our objective?" she asked, as she added milk to her cup.

He chuckled lightly, and accepted the milk when she passed it to him.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" he asked.

"No," she replied, quite flatly. "I don't. What is the objective here?"

She knew what it was, of course, but she was curious to hear it from him. He still seemed a little wet behind the ears, after all, and it wouldn't hurt to determine the ethics of who she was now working with. It surprised her a little bit when he produced some papers from a binder she had not noticed him carrying before. He slid them across the table for her to look at, and she furrowed her brow as she squinted to read his handwriting.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Eyewitness accounts," Ky replied. "From various citizens."

"A woman in a red dress who fights with a guitar," Millia read aloud. Something tugged at her memory, but she ignored it, for the moment. "Not to rain on your parade, Mr. Kiske-"

"Ky."

She looked up from the papers. He was looking at her again…looking at her in that same way he did last night. That unreadable emotion was shining in his eyes, and just like before, she didn't like it. It bothered her.

"Mr. Kiske," she repeated stiffly, not at all comfortable with lowering formalities to first name basis, at least not yet. She had only met the man the night before, after all. He blushed just a little bit-if that wasn't a blatant sign of his youth; Millia didn't know what was-and nodded in consent of her correction. She cleared her throat.

"That description can be applied to anyone. I can think of a lot of musicians who wear red."

"I know," he replied, and gestured to the papers. "Just read on."

"Reported arson of a Chinese restaurant, rude woman in a red dress-distribution of a bounty list, young musician wearing red leather. Okay. Hold on," she said, shutting the binder and pushing it away for the moment. She closed her eyes, massaging both temples with the tips of her nails. Musician in a short red dress…that was _familiar_, damn it…

"We have a suspect," Ky said. "It can't be mere coincidence that so many people reported this woman. She tried to turn them all against each other with that list, apparently, so if we find her, we can find out who she's working for. Whoever she is."

"I-no!" Millia exclaimed, for she had finally placed a name to the face in her mind.

"What?"

"I-no," she repeated. "The woman's name is I-no. I heard it from one of the bounty hunters who came after me when that list came out."

"Great," Ky said, the relief in his voice palpable. "Where do we start looking?"

Millia's eyes narrowed to angry slits as she glared at him from across the table. _How _had he become head of the IPF again?

"The eyewitnesses," she said, shoving the binder back across the table. "These people are bound to know something."

"I _know_ that, Miss Rage," Ky replied, a trifle angrily, "I meant _whom _do we question first?"

She shook her head, vaguely peeved at his annoyance.

"My mistake," she said. "That restaurant owner seems as good a start as any. What do you think?"

Ky shrugged, and finished his tea.

"Sounds fine to me. Let's go."


	5. Jam's Restaurant

**Author's Notes: **First and foremost, you guys seriously are the coolest reviewers EVER. I'm not even kidding. You really present some interesting points and put a lot of thought into what you say. I can't even _begin _to express how thankful I am for that. (Especially that one review that analyzed my grammar, wording, plot, and characterization. Wow. Thanks!) Not only do your positive words and individual inputs make me feel really good about my work, but you also give me something to think about while I'm writing, ideas as to how to bring this story along the way I want to. Your thoughts and criticisms have been SPECTACULAR. Thank you so, so, so much. It really means a lot to me. Especially the fact that you guys actually read rambling digressions like this one. Grin.

I need a beta, though. Seriously. Any volunteers?

But anyways, this chapter was fun to write. I'm worried I might be making Ky a bit too nice, though. And Jam…wow. She was kind of hard, but she WAS fun.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 4: Jam's Restaurant**

"This can't be the address," Millia said, staring blankly down at the piece of paper that had the location of Jam Cloudberry's restaurant written on it. "There must be some mistake."

"There's no mistake," Ky replied tiredly.

"_Yes_, there _is_," Millia nearly snapped. "There _must _be. It doesn't make any _sense."_

"It makes perfect sense."

"No it doesn't!"

"Yes, it does. Will you just _trust _me on this? Please?"

She didn't quite know why it was making her so angry that he wouldn't listen to her, or at least ask a local for directions, like she suggested. She was _right. _She _knew _she was right. Millia most certainly was _not _the type to get this upset over a small disagreement, but Ky was being ridiculously obstinate. She had _tried _to be calm, _tried _to be rational and explain things, but he was utterly _ignoring _what she had to say. _Ignoring _her. _He_ had been the one to ask for her assistance, and here he was completely disregarding her opinion.

_Breathe, Millia. Breathe._

"Listen," she said, after she had remained silent for a full minute in order to collect herself. "Why would this proprietress-"

"She's a cook."

"_-Cook," _she said in a forcibly even tone, "have her address listed as the location of her _burned down _restaurant? I've been to the place, it's nothing but-"

"I've been there too," he interrupted, without turning around.

"Then you should know that it's a pile of ash and rubble."

"I know it is."

His calm, matter-of-fact tone infuriated her, especially as she was having such a problem keeping her own cool.

"Then why are we wasting our time?" she asked.

"We aren't wasting our time."

She didn't say anything in response to that, but if her glower had any ability to physically manifest her anger, there would be holes burned into his back. Fine. If he wasn't going to listen to her…_fine. _Once he saw how wrong he was when they got there, then he'd-

"Here we are," he announced.

Millia looked up from her boots. She had been stewing for so long, she failed to notice the distance they'd walked. For a moment, she was only able to stare at the display before her, utterly bewildered by how _wrong _she'd been.

"Oh," was what she was finally able to say.

"Yes," Ky replied, finally turning around. There was a small, knowing smile on his face, but the kindness in his eyes erased any possible implication of conceit.

Well, she'd been correct about one thing. The restaurant _was _a pile of ash and rubble, just as she had seen it that one time before. However, there was something remarkably different about the place now, something that she hadn't expected at _all._

All around the area, gigantic tents were set up. Within the tents were mismatched tables and chairs that looked like they'd been scavenged out of yard sales, but the quality of the furniture was hardly relevant. Business was _booming. _The sound of a chattering lunch crowd filled the air, and waitresses scurried from tent to tent, taking orders and carrying trays of steaming Chinese cuisine. The aroma of roasting meat was mouthwatering. Millia could only stare in awe of what had been accomplished in such a short time.

"Shall we?" Ky asked, after allowing her a moment to take everything in.

Millia swallowed and nodded, chastised, but unwilling to show it.

"Yes," she replied, and followed him into the "restaurant".

As soon as they stepped into the vicinity, a waitress in a green dress greeted them with a bright smile and a small bow.

"Good afternoon," she said cheerfully. "Two?"

"We're not eating here today," Millia said shortly, before Ky could say a thing. "We'd like to speak to Miss Cloudberry for a few moments."

The waitress's smile faltered a little bit as she looked from Millia to Ky, but didn't fade. Millia was almost able to read the girl's mind. Miss Cloudberry in trouble? What could she possibly be in trouble for?

"Certainly. Just a few moments, please. Perhaps you'd like to sit at the bar?"

"That would be okay," Ky said with a polite smile.

"Right this way," the waitress replied, and led the two to a semi-secluded tent that, out of all the others, was presently the least populated. One long table, dotted by two or three customers, served as a bar. Smaller tables for two or three were set up in even rows, but no one was sitting at any of them. Ky and Millia chose seats at the bar.

"The sake is excellent here," Ky told Millia as soon as they lowered themselves into two stools next to each other.

"No thank you," Millia replied stiffly.

"It's busy," he pressed, after he gave the bartender his order. "It may be a few minutes before Jam will see us."

Millia turned to look at him with both brows raised. _Jam, _was it?

"I don't drink," she said flatly. A twinge of frustration sneaked into her tone, but fortunately, Ky didn't notice.

What she said wasn't exactly true, though. She could recall a few-all right, _more _than a few-times at the Assassin's Guild where she woke up not remembering what had occurred the night before, but still, Ky didn't need to know that.

"All right," Ky conceded, sipping his liquor once he received it. "Suit yourself."

She didn't respond.

"I'll have a glass of water, please," she finally said to the bartender, who immediately rushed to comply. She took a small sip and stared down into the mouth of the glass, aimlessly stirring the ice with her straw.

Ky had shifted his seat so that he could look at her more directly. He held his sake on his thigh, and was regarding her inquisitively, his brow furrowed.

"You know, Miss Rage," he said, and Millia looked up from her glass.

"I respect your sense of responsibility," he told her.

She blinked, but didn't interrupt. _What…?_

"I feel I can learn from you…"

He stopped talking, but he clearly wasn't finished yet. Now that she was looking at him, his head was bowed, and he was stirring his own drink in a distracted manner.

"But?" she queried, in a vague attempt to press him.

He shook his head.

"That's all."

It obviously wasn't all, but Millia didn't care to pry the rest out of him. His feelings about her position not only were completely irrelevant, but had nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Why did she _want_ to know, then? Why did it bother her that he hadn't finished?

"All right," she said, with unflappable offhandedness.

Neither of them spoke for awhile. Millia finished her water. Just as she was about to ask the bartender where Cloudberry was, however, the flap of the tent opened, and an unmistakably familiar voice filled the air. Millia jumped and looked up, craning her neck to see who had entered.

"The customer at table fourteen didn't _want_ any noodles, Chii! Now we have to give him his meal for free. I make sure that _every _customer leaves here happy, and Mr. Hinasaki isn't going home until he gets what he wants! Okay! Now, who wanted to talk to me?"

Her voice was distinctively feminine, high pitched, and _loud. _Clearly she had no trouble making herself heard around here, even though she was so…so…_little. _Millia wasn't going to judge her by her frame, however. She was all too aware of the fierce strength that was hidden behind the cute, bubbly exterior.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. Oh, this was going to be awkward.

"What was that?" Ky asked, but fortunately, Millia didn't have to answer that question.

"Officer Kiske!" exclaimed the chef who had accused Millia of arson and fought her over it. She all but pranced behind the bar table, practically shoving the present bartender aside.

"Hello, Jam," Ky said, and warmly shook the young woman's hand once she offered it. "How're you doing?"

"I'm doing great, just great," Jam chirped. "Why didn't you come to see me earlier? Business has been _terrific_ since you suggested a temporary outdoor restaurant. What'll it be today? You seemed to like that vegetable dish last time, how about if I-"

"We're not here to eat," Millia said sternly, speaking up for the first time since Cloudberry came into the bar. She didn't bother to conceal the harshness in her tone-it would have helped if Ky had mentioned that he'd met the chef beforehand. This really was an undesirable situation.

Jam turned towards her when she spoke, noticing her.

"Oh, Miss?" she said. "Do I know you? You look familiar."

Was she _serious? _Millia looked at her incredulously.

"We had a disagreement," she said, practically through gritted teeth.

The other woman's brown eyes widened with recognition.

"Oh!" she cried. "Over that list!"

"Yes," Millia replied tonelessly. "The bounty list."

"That's actually why we're here to talk to you, Jam," Ky chimed in.

"Well," Jam said, wiping down the table with a moist cloth, "if you're together with Officer Kiske, I had to have been _really _wrong to fight you."

"I'm not-" Millia started to interrupt, as she disliked the other woman's choice of adjectives. _Together _was not a word she would have used, but deciding not to complicate things, she just shut her mouth.

"-not concerned over the matter," she finished lamely.

"I should still apologize," Jam continued. "How about a nice lunch, on the house?"

"That's really not necessary-" Millia began, but Jam waved her hand in a gesture that signified that she would hear no protests.

"Please. Consider it a token of my apologies. What do you like? Vegetables? Rice?"

"I think I will have that vegetable dish, Jam," Ky said. His familiarity with this woman was oddly frustrating.

"I-me too," Millia said awkwardly, not wishing to hear the woman babble off the entire menu.

"Great!" Jam beamed. "Two vegetable dishes on the house, coming up!"

She turned around, and began to busy herself with cutting things and preparing a frying pan.

"I'm glad you decided to have something, Officer Kiske," she said amicably. Ky merely shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

"You look _terrible," _she went on. _"_Those splotches under your eyes…ugh! You been eating okay? Remember what I told you, about good food."

"I've been eating, Jam," he assured her. "I may not be sleeping, but I am eating."

"You need a vacation, then," she immediately deducted. There was a faint sizzle as she plopped the vegetables into the pan, and a pleasant aroma arose with the smoke. Despite her present irritation at Ky's irresponsibility, Millia couldn't help but listen to her own stomach growl. She hadn't exactly eaten all day, having refused breakfast, and that smell was tantalizing.

"That word isn't part of my vocabulary, or at least it won't be for a really long time," Ky sighed. "We need to know about the woman who gave you the bounty list, Jam."

"Okay," Jam replied, stirring the vegetables with a spatula. "What do you want to know?"

"Who she's working for," Millia said, feeling awkward about not speaking up for such a long time. "What her motives are."

"I don't know who she's working for," Jam said. "I don't even think she's working for anyone at all, actually."

"What makes you say that?" Millia pressed.

"Well," Jam continued, adding some oils to the vegetables in the pan, which faintly hissed, "she didn't really act like she was obeying orders, you know? She just didn't seem like she was that type. Really rude, too. Like all she wanted to do was mess with people."

"Mess with people?" Ky asked. "Like how she gave everyone that list?"

"Yeah! She gave me a list after the restaurant burned. From what I figured, she gave different lists to different people and…"

"And?" Millia urged.

"And turned them all against each other," Jam finished.

"What would be the purpose of causing total upheaval?" Millia mused aloud.

"Maybe the Assassin's Guild is involved," Ky suggested.

Millia turned her face towards him so suddenly her neck cracked, so great was her astonishment of the utter _randomness _of the statement.

"What?" she asked. Ky merely shrugged.

"It's just a theory," he said flatly. Millia continued to stare at him, not quite willing to drop the subject, but also not wishing to pry him here. He was hiding something. To have said something like that…it wasn't just spontaneous.

"Lunch is served!" Jam said brightly, and placed two steaming plates in front of them. "Eat up!"

"Thank you, Jam," Ky said warmly. "It smells wonderful."

"Thank you," Millia echoed, a trifle darkly. This was…uncomfortable. Despite the circumstances of receiving the food, she was grateful for its distraction.

"May I have another glass of water, please?" she asked.

"Of course," Jam said, and immediately bustled over to retrieve it.

Ky had begun to eat, not sloppily, but with gusto. Within a minute, a quarter of his plate had vanished, and Millia hadn't touched hers. Tentatively, she impaled a piece of pepper with her fork and transferred it to her mouth.

Delicious.

She commenced eating, and though nowhere near as vigorous as Ky, her pace was significantly faster than usual.

"What do you think?" Jam asked, when she brought her water.

"It's different," Millia said, which was as close to a compliment she would ever get with someone who was practically a stranger. Jam, however, seemed to know, and beamed.

"Thank you," she said, with a small bow.

"Jam, you outdid yourself," Ky said between bites. "This is out of this world."

"It's probably because the vegetables are so fresh," Jam replied, smiling. "You know, we have a garden now, so when the customers come in, they see that everything's grown right here. It's really good for-_HEY!"_

Millia almost dropped her fork when Jam cried out. She looked up at her from her meal, and saw not the cheerful visage of a few seconds before, but hardened features, eyes glittering with rage.

"_I told you!_" Jam shrieked. _"I told you not to come back here!"_

Millia and Ky whirled around on their stools, and when Millia saw who was shadowing the tent's doorway, her blood froze in her veins.

He stood there calmly, his hair hanging in a way that almost completely veiled his face. He was seemingly apathetic to his surroundings, but Millia knew he was looking at her, she _felt_ his eyes on her, even through that veil. An overwhelming sense of vulnerability threatened to take her over, but she fought for and obtained control, her hair coiling tightly behind her in preparation.

"I was hoping to negotiate with you, Miss Cloudberry," Venom said, his voice as dark and sinuous as poison come to life. "But, clearly there are…other matters at hand here. Millia?"

"What do you want, Venom?" she said, her tone cold and deadly.

"You know this man?" Ky muttered under his breath, but she ignored his question. She kept her eyes fixed on the man in front of her, her hair quivering in mounting anticipation.

"I am more than a little surprised at your…continued presence, Millia," he went on. "One would think that Master Zato would have dealt with you by now."

"_I _dealt with Zato," Millia snapped.

Venom unlatched his briefcase, obtaining his pool cue from within it.

"You're like a cockroach, Millia," he said. "No matter how many times you're crushed, you always seem to scurry away, unscathed."

Unoffended by his commentary, Millia nonetheless rose from her stool, her hair twining into a dangerous spear of gold, its tip aimed right at Venom's throat.

"Oh?" she said, her voice softening to a deadly whisper. "A cockroach, am I? Would you like to test that theory, Venom? Or would you rather hide behind Zato, like how you're so fond of doing?"

His eyes narrowed to angry slits.

"I fight for the honour of Master Zato," he replied. "Traitor."

She had been called many things in her lifetime, but that was one insult she would _not _bear. Splitting apart from its present formation of a spear, her hair shot out from either end of her head, and, forming hands at the tips of the golden ropes, seized Venom before he could react. Only barely registering through the chaos of her fury that breaking his body before these people and Ky was a bad idea, she merely used her hair to slam him into the nearest table, which broke in half upon his impact.

"TRAITOR!" she shrieked. "_Traitor! _You lead a tainted society! You kill, without question or reason! Murderer!"

She wanted to see fear. She wanted to see it etched all over his face. But no. She saw mere smug speculation in his eyes, and it pushed her nearly to the point of blind fury.

"At least," he said, his voice soft, calm. "I have something to live for."

The words were like knives to her heart. Her hands began to shake, and she simply looked at him, burning with desire to do the very thing she had sworn to never again do.

Her hair loosened from around him. Fell limply to her feet.

"Miss Rage," Ky called from the bar. She ignored him, and stalked out of the tent.


	6. Musings and Conversations

**A/N: **Hello, everyone. I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update. I assure you I haven't forgotten about this fic. Every so often, I pull it up on Word and tap out a few paragraphs thinking "hey, I should update, shouldn't I?" and occasionally a page or two comes out. Like now. I'm not gonna promise that I'll update again soon, but I will promise this…_someday _I'll finish this fic. It's all in my head. It just needs to be written. As usual, C/C is wanted and accepted. Thank you very much for reading. It means a lot.

**Chapter Five: Musings and Conversations**

After the confrontation with Venom, Millia had snapped at the nearest waitress to inform Ky that she was returning to the Headquarters. She felt bad, of course, for being so crass with the poor girl, but she was far too miserable to apologize. All she wanted was to shut herself away somewhere without any possibility of intrusion, and at the moment, all she had was her chamber in the French manor.

Without returning the salutations of the many guards around her once she made it there, she climbed the carpeted, marble staircase, strode angrily down the decorated hallway, and entered her chamber. After she slammed and locked the doors behind her, she threw herself upon her mattress and buried her face in her pillows, closing her eyes tightly in a vain attempt to quell the sudden throbbing in her temples. She pointed her toes, and concentrated on the sensation of her calf muscles stretching.

_At least I have something to live for._

The words echoed tauntingly in her head, like some cruel mantra, and the mere memory of them made her cheeks grow hot with shame. She was angry with herself. She was angry for letting her temper get a hold her, in a public place and in front of Ky, who despite his attempts at informality was still her employer. Not only that, but it frustrated her to no end that she was allowing Venom's words to perturb her so.

_Let it go, _the Voice of Reason whispered urgently. _He's said worse._

At least there was truth in that.

A sharp knocking at her door interrupted her thoughts. Millia nearly growled with aggravation, but settled for a deep frown that made her appear years older than she actually was. She should have at least informed the sentries that she wished to be left alone, before shutting herself in.

"Yes?" she called, her voice even and betraying none of her inner turmoil. "Who is it?"

"It's Ky."

_Damn it._

Millia clenched her left hand into a tight fist. It was downright idiotic of her to leave Cloudberry's restaurant like that. She had abandoned her responsibilities. This was probably the end of the line for her.

But, she thought in retrospect, did she really _care? _Did she honestly mind that she was most likely fired from a hopeless, fundless corporation such as the International Police Force?

No.

No, she didn't.

"Am I needed?" she inquired tiredly, not bothering to apologize for her actions.

There was a brief pause. Oddly enough, Millia made no attempt at guessing what it was he was doing or thinking about. She just…she just _didn't care._

"No, you're not needed. I just wanted to know if you were all right, is all."

_What?_

Oh, this was strange. For a moment, Millia had no idea how to react. Was he joking? If he was, it wasn't a very funny jest. Normal employers didn't want to know if their employees were _all right. _Zato sure as hell didn't. In fact, he was quite the opposite and condoned emotion of any sort. But, then again, Zato didn't exactly fall under the "normal" category. And one had to lack emotion, to be part of the Assassin's Guild.

"I'm fine," she said lamely, flustered. She was caught off-guard, and she didn't like it. She especially didn't like why he was beating around the bush. Why wasn't he just _firing _her already?

"No you're not," he said. "If Millia Rage loses her cool in front of people and slams a man into a table, she's most certainly not _fine."_

"Who are you to judge me?" she snapped, before she could stop herself. She immediately regretted the statement as soon as she said it, but thankfully, Ky didn't say anything in reply. Had she struck him silent? She raised her head up from the nest of pillows and peered curiously at the closed door as if she had the ability to see through it, to him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That was rude."

"Oh, it's not a problem," Ky replied. "I was actually hoping you'd start ranting at me, really. You know, get your problem off your chest? Want me to come in? We can talk."

Millia narrowed her eyes. No…he wasn't serious. He couldn't have been serious. _Rant _at him? If he was serious, he was mad.

"That's not necessary," she mumbled.

"I think it is, though," he replied, very much to her frustration. "Because if I'm guessing correctly-and I believe I am-you're sitting in there by yourself, sulking and trying to find ways to blame yourself for your own emotions."

She was struck silent. He couldn't read minds, could he?

"That's what I thought. Now, if you want me to stand outside here all night, I will. But I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me what's wrong."

The implications were horrifying. Millia jolted to a sitting position.

"You're _joking,_" she said.

"Nope," he replied.

"You ought to be joking," she said in response, her voice dripping with threat.

"I know," he said, calmly. "But think of it this way. If you insist on keeping the doors shut, it'll almost be like talking to walls. Just…the walls will talk back to you."

She sighed. If it weren't so high up, she would have contemplated jumping out the window. But, as she couldn't, and as she was in no mood to try to find some kind of escape, she merely surrendered.

"Very well," she muttered.

"Good," Ky said. "Now…what's wrong?"

Was he really being that blunt? Millia cringed. How was she _possibly _supposed to answer that quickly? There were so many things that were _wrong, _she had no idea where to even start.

"I…" she said awkwardly, and trailed off.

"Who was that man?" Ky asked softly.

Now _that_ was easier to answer.

"Venom," she nearly whispered. "We were close once, in the Assassin's Guild."

She swallowed hard. "That was a long time ago. Our master, Zato..."

He was listening to her.

The realization made her cringe, and her voice trailed as she regarded the closed door in front of her. He hadn't gone away, but he wasn't interrupting, either. And he was definitely _there. _It wasn't just instinctual knowledge borne from years of being an assassin, either, she just _knew._

She couldn't finish her sentence. She was far too perplexed. Why did he _care?_

"Am I fired?" she asked instead of continuing.

There was another silence, this one decidedly shorter. And then…he laughed.

Even as Millia bit down hard on the insides of her cheeks to suppress succumbing to embarrassed idiosyncrasies, she couldn't help but smile, at least a little bit. There was something vibrant about his laughter, a surge of youth and vivaciousness that she couldn't help but appreciate.

"Of course you're not fired," he said. "I couldn't afford it even if I wanted to."

She raised her head up from the pillows slowly, and just as slowly, she crept off the bed and tiptoed stealthily towards the door, her hand twitching, hesitating at the handle. Should she open it? No. That would be unpractical.

"Mr. Kiske…" she began.

"Yes?" he queried.

Her facial features softened, the worry lines in her forehead and around her eyes fading away, revealing the visage of a beautiful young woman.

"Goodnight," she said.

"Goodnight, Miss Rage. If you need anything, let me know."

Retreating footsteps.

Millia closed her eyes, letting her fingers run over the door, focusing her entire being on the texture of the wood.

"Maybe I should take you up on that," she whispered.

Silence. She turned the light off and went to sleep.


End file.
